


Paradise

by LoversAntiquities



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Porn, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Dean, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pornstar Dean, Prostate Massage, Sex Toys, Voyeurism, Writer Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-25 13:29:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2623454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoversAntiquities/pseuds/LoversAntiquities
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe next time, Castiel would ask his realtor what <i>kind</i> of house he was moving into before a green-eyed, half naked man showed up on his doorstep with cake.</p><p>Or, wherein Castiel accidently moves in next door to a porn studio.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paradise

The realtor spoke highly of that house in the hills, lauding it as the highlight of her career. Based on the price tag of her Rolls Royce out front and the several thousand dollars worth of diamonds adorning her neck and ears, though, he wasn't exactly inclined to believe her. It was a simple place, really, much reminiscent of every other mansion in the neighborhood; six bedrooms, seven bathrooms, a covered outdoor pool with an acre of green space, room for a garden – one of his necessities, he made clear – unattached three-car garage, and a rooftop deck to do his stargazing. Not that there were many stars to _see_ in the suburbs of California past the light pollution and palm trees as far as the eye could see, but it was the thought that counted.

The price tag? Three and a half million. It was on the _cheaper_ end of the real estate market for Los Angeles, only because it needed minor renovations and the homeowner wanted out of there _immediately_. He didn't see why; just from the walkthrough, the place was gorgeous, decked out in ornate off-whites in a southwestern flair. He even knew where he would put his bed, in the bedroom closest to the cliff side overlooking all of the valley and the Hollywood Hills across the way. It suited him, insane markup be damned.

It would be a much-needed change of pace from his former hole-in-the-wall apartment in New York, that was for certain. He could actually appreciate the scenery in California, get away from the constant hum of cars and tourists and general unease within the rows of skyscrapers. Being cramped in a loft apartment was counterproductive for actually getting _any_ work done, especially on a deadline. His editor made it clear after the fifth of his novels was published – if he wanted to save the rest of his sanity and stop his hair from graying prematurely, he was to leave the state and never come back.

He could go anywhere he wanted, even _Alaska_ if he so dared. He had the cash and the notoriety – California was an ideal spot to start over. Stable climate, next to no risk of snow, no hurricanes chasing up the coast, and somewhere he could actually park his old Continental without having to pay an ungodly amount for a parking space. _Anywhere_ sounded better than there.

Moving day was finally upon Castiel Novak, two men unloading the truly unremarkable amount of furniture from his former residence and placing it wherever directed. An hour after their arrival at nine in the morning after having trekked across the country, they were done, leaving him to stand in his new home and wonder just _what_ he was going to do with himself for the rest of the day. He was fully expecting it to take longer than it did, leaving him with enough time to run errands in town, maybe visit the furniture showroom to furnish the other rooms he _knew_ his brother whoever _else_ in his family would be staying in.

By midafternoon, he had the entirety of his bedroom unpacked and arranged to his liking, the living space and office completed before nightfall. At least it was felt somewhat lived in rather than the cold space he visited two weeks before. After putting in multiple orders at the warehouse in the valley the next day and calling his brother to assure him _yes_ , he was alive and _yes_ , everything arrived just as he _said_ it would, he returned to the silence of his own home and the high definition television on the wall in the living room, the channel still on CNN where he left it.

At the earliest, his acquisitions would be delivered the following morning, along with Gabriel, the brother he never wanted. Apparently life as a record producer in Atlanta wasn't at all what he desired. He could have afforded his own home, but out of the kindness of his own heart, he offered up one of the bedrooms on the far end of the estate. As long as he stayed out of his hair and didn't disturb him while in the office, Gabriel could have full reign of whatever he wanted whenever he was home from his job at Capitol. Probably the worst idea he had ever had, but it was much more preferable than having _Michael_ around, that man the sole reason he fled Chicago for New York in the first place.

Barely noon, Castiel sprawled out across the white suede sofa and covered his eyes with a stray pillow, blocking out the late morning sun streaming through the opened screen door. The weather was nicer than it had been that week, overcast skies reverting to their normal crisp slate blue, temperatures bouncing into the lower eighties and still on the rise. Dry heat was much more preferable to the summer humidity of his former home, he mused, kicking his feet up on the opposite arm of the couch.

The low hum of reporters squabbling over idiotic topics and the slight breeze wafting in lulled him into a sense of half wakefulness, the ever-present need to get to work on his manuscript superseded by the tranquility of the moment. Initially, he thought the ringing of the doorbell to be an annoyingly loud commercial until he pulled the pillow to the side and set his eyes on the still-bickering anchors, the ringing still resounding clear.

Who in the _world_ was at his door?

Scratching at the knot of his tie, he slipped the article free as he padded barefoot across the room, belatedly wishing he had changed out of his business attire after seeing just _who_ was bothering him at that hour. An auburn-haired, bare-chested man maybe in his mid-twenties stared at him with impossibly green eyes, finger still reaching for the button of the doorbell, apparently awestruck that someone had actually _answered_. Castiel could barely speak, or for the matter control where his _eyes_ were going, more attracted to the man’s physique and the jeans that slung low across cut hips, the barest edge of tattoos peeking over the waistband. In his other hand he held a weighted white grocery bag with a Ralphs logo plastered across the front.

The man seemed at a loss for words, throat clicking as he swallowed. “I, uh… I saw you were moving in yesterday,” he started with a drawl, voice deeper than it should have been, almost ill suited for such a young body. “So, I brought you this. It’s, uh,” he slid the item from the bag and handed it off, revealing a medium-sized circular sheet cake with ‘Welcome to the Neighborhood’ written out in icing, “a welcome cake? Wanted to be a good neighbor. Name’s Dean, Dean Winchester.” He shook the hand Castiel wasn’t using to hold cake with, warm and calloused within his own.

“Castiel Novak,” he stammered – when had it gotten so hard to talk?

“No _way_.” Dean’s hand slipped away, his mouth agape. “C.J. Novak? Writer of _Walk Among Us_?”

He didn't understand what was happening – why was there an attractive half-nude man on his doorstep handing him cake and knowing exactly who he was? “Apparently,” he rasped. He moved to set the encased confection on the door-side table and turned back to him, the man still in shock. He wasn't _that_ famous; sure, he went on the morning show circuit last year when _The Fallen_ was released, but even then, majority of those who met had barely heard of him. The movie deal was garnering him more attention, though. “You know my work?”

“Dude, _yes_! I spent my senior year with _The Risen_ in my glove box! That was _incredible_!”

That level of excitement shouldn't have been legal on such an appealing man. _Think with your brain, Novak._ “I’m glad you enjoyed it,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I, uh… Would you like to come in?” He thumbed to the doorway, temporarily forgetting the state of disrepair inside.

Thankfully Dean shook his head, though visibly reluctant. “Rain check. I’m actually late for work next door, so…”

He looked around the corner to the even more elaborately designed house at his right, white exterior adorned with red clay accents, palms and sparse shrubbery blocking most of the view. From the look of it, majority of the house was down the hill save for what appeared to be a front sitting room. How in the world could he work _there_? “Landscaper?”

The flush across Dean’s face had him second-guessing his question. “ _Some_ thing like that… I’ll be here Wednesday, ‘re you free then? I’d, uh… like to talk to you about your books?”

Castiel nodded in a strange mixture of confusion and elation. They shook hands again, Dean’s smile showing teeth. “It’s nice to meet you, Dean.”

Dean backed away in a hurry, not before giving Castiel a wink and a ‘see you later, Cas,’ afterwards running next door through the cul de sac and disappearing past the wrought-iron gate. In the increasing distance, he noticed the true expanse of his tattoos, encasing his shoulder blades and trailing the length of his spine.

What he wouldn't have _given_ to get his hands on him.

-+-+-+-+-+-

“I swear, Gabriel,” Castiel said the next day as he stood at the bar in the kitchen, forking at the square slice of cake on his place, “a complete _stranger_ showed up and handed me cake. And he doesn't even _live_ here. I thought Californians were supposed to be… _colder_.”

“Well maybe he’s not _from_ here, y’ever think of that?” his brother’s voice echoed in the empty expanse of his house, clearly amused. The furniture company was supposed to arrive within the next two hours, give or take. Traffic during the morning rush hour was Hell incarnate. “You said he had an accent? Probably Midwestern, all nice and tan—.”

“I don't need you projecting your fetishes on me,” Castiel scoffed. “He said he _worked_ next door, and turned an absolutely _brilliant_ shade of red when I asked if he was a landscaper.”

Gabriel snorted. “Did this mystery man give you a name? Or does he just come and go as he pleases?”

He finished the final bite of the cake – chocolate later cake, to his enjoyment – and placed the dish and fork in the sink, wiping the icing from his lips. Gabriel was starting on his second slice. “Why does the name matter?”

“Be _cause_ , a man doesn’t just drop by with cake without giving you a name! That's like, Good Neighbor 101. That way if he kills someone, you know who to call the cops on!”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. “He’s not a _murderer_. He’s too—.”

“Pretty?” Castiel rolled his eyes, ignoring the self-satisfied smirk his brother wore. “You always go for the younger ones, you know that? You’re thirty, can’t find anyone your age?”

“I wasn’t _looking_ for anyone, and I’m certainly not now,” he lied, vehement. Knowing Dean would be in his dreams that night left a twinge of unease in his stomach.

“Come _on_ , Cassie. Name!”

Gabriel chanted the word, fists banging on the granite bar until Castiel, suppressing the urge to strangle his brother over the table, conceded. “He said his name was Dean Winchester. Happy?”

The silence he received in return had him wondering if Gabriel had had a minor stroke. A long syllable of ‘dude’ broke into incessant laughing, his brother nearly choking on his fork. “Dude, you of _all_ people don’t know who Dean Winchester is?”

“No?” The last he checked, he wasn't aware of the name of every person he came in contact with. Who did he think he was? “Should I be?”

“He’s like, one of the most popular porn stars in SoCal right now! Up and comer, really knows his way around a cock. Specializes in toys.” Castiel’s face heated, eyes wide; Gabriel cocked an eyebrow. “You _sure_ you’ve never heard of him? With the way you write erotica—.”

“I don’t _devour_ pornography like you, I actually spend my time online doing worthwhile things.”

“Like what, staring at Google Maps all day? Come here.” Gabriel took his half-empty plate in hand, the prongs of his fork dangling from between his teeth as he treaded the barren halls of their shared home, leading Castiel to the office, picture window facing the valley. He set the plate down and forced Castiel into the rolling leather chair while he brought up his Internet browser, clacking away a truly indecent URL in the search bar and logging in. There was actually a studio named _Caged Sanctuary_? “Lawrence Smith, That the guy?” He pointed to the first photo of Dean he could find. He nodded – because that _was_ him, all six foot one, tattoos, freckles and emerald eyes, looking every bit as sinful as he pictured.

He cleared his throat; what was he supposed to _say_ to that? Gabriel commandeered his mouse and continued to navigate the site, bringing up his specific page and pressing play on one of the three-stared videos. “You’re not about to make me _watch_ this, are you?” Castiel half-choked, giving his brother the most incredulous glare he could muster.

“It’s for your own education. Now _this_ is what you’re dealing with.”

He skipped a portion of the beginning and settled just as the video panned up the toned planes of Dean’s chest, camera taking particular interest in his lips, kiss swollen and ridiculously tempting, before moving to the arch of his neck as he threw his head back with a moan. The man between his bowed legs was similarly built and apparently enrapt with his hips and the winged tattoos he spotted the day prior, mouth alternating between wet kisses along his cock and intent licks to his head, all before taking him with no preamble down his throat, groaning around the thick length of him.

Gabriel snickered at his obviously disheveled state. “ _And_ this is where I make my exit. I’m eating the rest of your cake, by the way!” In his haste to leave and slam the door behind him, he abandoned his plate; Castiel eyed it in a failed attempt at distracting himself from the obvious whimpers coming through the speakers.

How _dare_ he throw this in his face. And how _dare_ he still be interested in watching it, too. On screen, Dean’s fingers carded through the mystery man’s dark hair, pulling at the strands before tugging him away, capturing his lips in an ardent kiss. That wasn't interesting; he skipped another portion against his better judgment, stopping at a point with Dean on his stomach with his ass in the air, the mystery man rubbing the head of his sheathed cock against his hole, pushing in with enough force to draw a pleading groan from Dean’s throat. He had his wrists pinned at the small of his back, the intricate lining of his tattoo – wings made entirely of thorny vines wrapped around an anatomically correct detailing of his spine – bunching up the tighter his arms were pushed together.

Dean certainly seemed to be enjoying himself, whether it was an act for the camera or not. Castiel still couldn't believe he was willingly _watching_ it, shoving the heel of his hand against the traitorous bulge in his jeans. He knew the dangers if he didn't hit the exit button – he wouldn't be able to look Dean in the eye tomorrow in fear of his dick deciding to make an appearance, or worse. Yet he still watched, enthralled, biting his knuckle as the stranger shoved Dean’s head into the pristine sheets of the bed, picking up the pace of his thrusts as both neared their presumable climax.

The vocalizations of both men grew louder, Dean moreso than the other, pleading continually for him to ‘ _go faster, c’mon, fuck me hard, fuck, just like that, fuck fuck_ ’ like a chant, his back bowing dangerously. He didn't want to see this – this would ruin everything, and he barely _knew_ his neighbor. How was he supposed to have a decent conversation with him without imagining what his mouth would look like around his cock, or how his skin would flush if he held him down and had his way with him? He had to be professional. Keep his mind out of the gutter. _Not_ shove his hand down his pants like he desperately wanted to do.

Thankfully he managed to bang his knee on the interior edge of the desk in his rush to turn the speakers off when Dean came, shouting like he had never heard before, a wild animal in the throes of passion. Sweating, writhing, coming all over himself with his partner close behind, the man pulling out with enough time to rip off the condom and come across Dean’s bare ass, streaks of white highlighted against exertion-reddened skin. The pain radiating in his kneecap didn't register until he forcibly clicked out of the window and stood, promptly collapsing thereafter.

Gabriel was right. _What_ had he gotten himself into?

-+-+-+-+-+-

Dean didn't own any shirts, Castiel concluded the next morning, the man showing up on his doorstep in ripped gray jeans and _nothing_ else, not even shoes. His car – _she’s only the baddest thing on the road, Cas, a ’67 Chevy Impala_ – was parked in front of his garage and out of sight of any passing eyes, engine probably waking up the whole neighborhood when he pulled in at _seven am_. Thankfully he had barely slept the night before, too horrified to do anything other than look at the ceiling in fear that he might do something he could come to regret.

Said thing was staring at him with those stupid eyes and licking those stupid lips as they sat at the glass-topped table outside, the morning sun barely up and over the horizon. It was pleasantly cool that early, not enough for him to wear a light jacket, but enough to contemplate asking his company if he needed anything that could stop his nipples from being so distracting. This boy would be the _death_ of him.

Their conversation ranged from Castiel’s overall concept for his novels and their interconnected characters, the overwhelming imagery of Heaven and Hell and the war-torn landscape in between, to the motivations behind actions. He never felt so interrogated and intrigued in his life, listening to Dean’s examination of his works like they were the greatest things in existence. To the best of his ability he answered whatever questions he had, including signing the well-worn copy of _The Risen_ , dog-eared and pen-marked on more pages than not. The dedication had his heart swelling; if only more of his readers were like him.

That was equally as much of a horrifying thought than a pleasant one. He could barely handle _one_ Dean, but _more_?

“I have to ask,” Castiel commented after a pleasant lull in their conversation, both having moved to the deck chairs, Dean’s pants slung even lower than before, more of his tattoos coming to light. What he wouldn't have given to crawl between those legs and just— _no, Novak, not now_. “What kind of work brings you all the way up here? It’s a good few minutes up the hill.” And it was. They were almost at the top of the _hill_ , winding through neighborhoods and past a Residents Only gate. Unless his pants were weighted down with insane amounts of cash, he didn't think Dean could remotely afford to live in the area.

“It’s…” Dean opened his mouth a few times, Castiel’s gaze probably giving him more insight than he needed. “…Oh God, you already know, don’t you?”

Castiel sighed and sat up, turning fully to face the younger man. “My _brother_ is an apparent subscriber to your studio.” He ran a hand through his black hair, shoving a few errant strands out of his eyes. “He may have… _forced_ me into watching your videos after I told him your name.”

He couldn't tell if the look on Dean’s face was leaning more towards horrified or reverent. “Did you know before—?”

“No, no!” Dean’s expression softened at the admission. “Pornography has never been among my top priorities. My brother is a _connoisseur_ , though.”

Dean snorted. “Strictly gay porn or…?”

“A bit of everything, from what he’s never stopped talking about. He wouldn't shut up about you yesterday, either. How he knew your real name, I still have no clue.” Castiel shook his head, hoping the sunlight would take the emphasis off the embarrassment painting his cheeks. “How did you start?”

Dean shrugged, eyes closed and hands clasped behind his head. Castiel forced himself to stop ogling in fear of the spontaneous erection he knew was threatening to rear into existence. “Other than getting paid to have sex? I’ve been paying for college, actually. On campus schools are _expensive_ here, so I’ve been doing online classes for the last two years.”

“What’re you interested in doing after you graduate?” The conversation was far too casual for his liking; had it really been that long since he talked to someone about things _not_ related to whatever he was writing at the time? “I assume you’re a literary major.”

A nod. “I wanna teach high shool, believe it or not. ‘S why I don’t use my real name – well, _kinda_ not my real one, Lawrence is my middle name. They track this shit, y’know.”

Not only was he smart, but he was proactive as well, probably already skirting loopholes to get around his image in the future. _Damn_ him for being perfect. “Where do you live?”

A long period of silence passed between them, Dean staring blankly out into the valley of houses and businesses below them, the sun glazing over the regular iridescence of his irises. “Been in an extended stay for a long time. It’s cheaper than havin’ to rent out a place and pay for utilities, and I have my own kitchen, so it works out in the end.” A sigh. “I get to save up more that way, y’know? I mean, I get paid plenty, but sometimes it’s not enough.”

Castiel nodded in understanding, folding his hands in his lap. It was a lot for Dean to be unloading on him, he knew; he didn't have to tell Castiel, yet for some reason he felt the need to put it in the air between them. After all, he knew of Dean’s life outside of his schooling by complete accident; he wished he had more of a story he could share aside from his dysfunctional family back in Chicago and those two years he spent in an artist’s colony. Truly unremarkable, really.

But still, listening to his situation concerned him; it couldn't be healthy, living in that kind of environment for months on end. Motels weren’t the most sanitary things in the first place, but rooms where people had _lived_ for who knows how long? …He couldn't _ask_ him, could he? They had only known each other for a few _hours_ , but it was arguably the most comfortable time he had ever spent with another person, possibly ever.

Dean was catching on to his silence, as well. “What?” he asked, rolling onto his side and draping one arm over the top of the chair. Castiel _really_ needed to stop looking at him like that, for fear of his self-control. “You look like you wanna ask me somethin’.”

He did – but could he? “I do, but… I feel like it’s too soon to ask this of you.”

Some flicker of realization crossed Dean’s face, but what that was _of_ though, was the question. “Cas, if you’re propositioning me, you know I’d say yes, right?”

He nearly choked on his tongue. “No, no, that’s not— _Really_?” He shook off the question and filed that away for later, trying to find the right words instead. “I want you to… _move in_ , with me.” He motioned towards the house. “I have more rooms than I know what to do with, and a garage so your car doesn’t end up keyed or ran into. …It’s just a suggestion, you don't have to—.”

“Really?” Dean looked skeptical, and he had every right to, movements slow, eyes narrowed in surveillance. Trying to discern his motives, he recognized. Had no one ever asked him of something so personal before? He wondered what his life had been like, if he moved to California for a reason. What the true reasons for taking the career path he had were, if any. “You’d… You don’t even _know_ me, how can you want me to just up and _live_ with you?”

“Locally, you’re next to your place of business,” was the first answer he gave. “Second, I know what it’s like to be in your position.” That much was true. With a sigh he leaned back in the flimsy chair, propping himself up with his hands behind his back. “When I moved to New York, I was cut off from everything. Family, money, any connections I may have had, gone. I did things I regret to get by. …I don’t want to see you go through what I did.”

Bare feet pressed to the concrete of the patio, Dean watched him, brow furrowed in concentration. “So’re you asking me to give up my job?”

Castiel shook his head. “Why would I ask that of you?”

“Just…” Dean looked down. “I don’t regret what I’m doing, not one bit. I enjoy sex, I get paid at the end of every week just to _do_ it, what’s not to like? But I don’t want it to define me, like… When I look back, I wanna say that this _made_ me. That what I did wasn’t out of desperation, it was opportunity. Like, you’re good at writing, I’m good at…” he gestured to the house down the hill past the palms and scrub brush, “this.”

“I’m sure you’re good at other things, too,” Castiel offered. “You’re smart, Dean. You can do whatever you want, I’m sure of it.”

Dean’s smile was fleeting, hidden mostly by the hand he scrubbed down his face, stubble there barely noticeable. “Thanks, Cas, I guess,” he said in reply. “Look, can I… I gotta think it over for a day or two. I’m shooting Friday, can I decide by then?”

Castiel nodded and stood, making his way to the porch door. “I don’t want you to feel obligated to do whatever you’re not comfortable with, remember that.” He motioned towards the kitchen, a smirk on his lips. “You want any cake? It appears it’s the only food I have in the house until I go shopping today.”

Dean sneered and slung open the screen door, slapping Castiel’s ass in passing. “You know it.”

-+-+-+-+-+-

The weather was doing _wonders_ for his health in the short time he had been there, despite having to stock up on lotion, the dryness of the air absolutely killing his skin. At least he smelled decent, stuck somewhere between lavender and apple, not nearly as conflicting as he initially thought them to be. That Thursday, he had gotten almost an entire chapter down of his manuscript in the same amount of time it would have taken him to write a _page_ in his old city. No unnecessary distractions, no idiots pulling the fire alarm when he was just falling asleep, no constant screech of taxis out his windows, just the peace and quiet of the hillside.

And the stomping of footsteps down the hall rushing towards his office, the pocket door slamming into the wall at the force it was pushed open. One day, he would install a deadbolt on every door in the house, or just learn how to lock them in general. Maybe it would keep Gabriel from barging in whenever he felt necessary. A twitch ran up his neck at a memory fifteen years old, and the singular moment his brother would _never_ let him live down. “You’re letting Lawrie move in with us?”

“ _What_?” Because for one, where did he come up with _that_ name, and two, how did he find out? “Have you been spying on me?”

“Please, Cassie.” Gabriel stood at the front of his desk, hands rapping the cedar top in excitement. “I don’t leave for the Strip until eight. And you two were just _right peachy_ with each other, weren’t you? You got it bad for the pretty ones, don’t you?”

He turned back to the flat screen monitor on the desk, feigning staring at his work. Fingering a key in annoyance, he tapped a nail on the worn surface, fully expecting Gabriel to get the hint. He never did. “I don’t ‘have it bad’ for him. I just—.”

“Don’t you dare say you’re feeling _sorry_ for him,” Gabriel chided. “Last thing you need is a pity-case on your hands. Seems to me he’s got his life in check.”

“I don’t _pity_ him. It’s… empathy. Think about it Gabriel. You _know_ me. You know _why_ I do what I do.”

His brother pulled up the stray barstool in the corner and crossed one leg over the other, giving him the most intent look he could muster. It would have been amusing if not for the seriousness of the conversation. “So you just what, expect him to pack up from his hellhole in Glendale and hole up here?”

“Isn’t that what you’re doing?” Gabriel had the audacity to laugh at his remark. “I have more than enough room to accommodate the _three_ of us. I doubt you’ll ever see him in the first place, considering you’re working majority of the day.” Which reminded him, “Why aren’t you there now?”

“Lunch break!” was his answer.

“…So you drove all the way from Hollywood back here for your ‘ _lunch break_.’” He swore, Gabriel would never make sense to him.

“What, can’t a guy come visit his baby brother whenever he wants?” he scoffed, waving a hand at Castiel.

“You were watching over the hedges, weren’t you?” They had a glorious view of the pool next door, if he were so inclined to look that way for himself. Personally, he had no interest in spying on whatever depraved things the stars were doing to each other. That was their own business, not his. But those words had never mattered much to his brother; he was honestly surprised he hadn’t jumped the fence line and made a break for it yet.

“I was _not_! How dare you accuse me of such a thing, Cassie! I thought you knew me better.” Castiel had half the mind to smash his face in the keyboard. “You can’t expect me _not_ to peek, not when _you_ knew what you were buying.”

“I wasn’t _aware_ I was moving in next to a studio.” Really, he would have thought the realtor would have had that information posted in the listing. “And I doubt I could have stopped you from living here even if I knew in the first place.”

“Got that right,” he said with a wink. “You know I wouldn’t miss the chance to see you every day. _And_ ogle at the eye-candy you’ve bagged.” Standing, he reached across to ruffle the mess of hair on his head, mussing it further. “So, when’s he supposed to give you the go ahead?”

“’Go ahead’ to what?” He cocked an eyebrow. “If you mean when he may move in, he’ll inform me tomorrow.”

“Ah, well,” Gabriel turned for the door, hand on the jamb, continuing, “I wouldn’t get my hopes up.” And he left, leaving him to the quiet of the wind rustling past his open window and the blinking cursor on his screen. But what if he already had?

-+-+-+-+-+-

Majority of his dreams, when he _did_ dream, consisted of sitting on the beach in a wicker chair, watching the waves lap at the sand in monotonous intervals, never swelling, never waning. The air was always at the perfect temperature, the sun never too high overhead, and the wind was never too harsh. He could have lived there, given the chance. If only the _ringing_ would stop. He whipped his head around towards the sound, fully expecting to see the perpetrator nearby in the trees. Three times it happened before he got the hint and snapped his eyes open.

The doorbell. Who in their _right_ mind was wringing the _doorbell_ that early? The sun wasn't even up. On his bedside table, the clock read 5:17. He swore, someone had better have _died_. Maybe Gabriel. That would certainly lower his impending stress levels a bit.

Padding bare feet down the stairs, Castiel rubbed his eyes and cursed whoever decided to wake up under his breath. What he didn't expect to find was Dean Winchester on his doorstep, two largish suitcases in tow and a backpack slung over his shoulder, looking all the bit sleep-deprived and frazzled. “If the cops come by, tell them I’ll be asleep in my room.”

 _What_. “What?” Castiel stood aside, Dean hauling his cases in by the handle and stopping once clear of the door. “Dean, what did you—.”

“I didn’t do anything,” he amended, wringing his hands together. “My neighbor, he—kinda tried to beat the shit outta his girlfriend last night. The lady across the hall called the cops when they took it to the pool, ‘n I had to give a witness statement.” His breath shook as he sighed, eyes locked on his shoes; did he know he was wearing one sock? And did he _really_ not own any shirts? “I was movin’ out anyway, so I told ‘em where I’d be if they needed to talk to me. I hope that’s alright?”

“That’s—That’s fine,” Castiel shrugged. “Perfect, actually. There’s a bedroom upstairs that's free, you’re welcome to decorate at your leisure.” He led Dean’s weary form up the stairs, taking one of his bags, mindful of Gabriel sleeping in the room opposite his own. Two doors down from the loft balcony, he slid open the white-painted door and allowed Dean to step into the space, adorned with a wrought-iron bed complete with two bedside tables and an oak dresser opposite them, along with a flat-screen hanging from the wall. Beneath the window facing the mountain, a multi-purpose desk sat, empty of all contents. “You’re welcome to—.”

In lieu of replying, Dean took the initiative to end the conversation by throwing his backpack on the desk and flopping atop the down comforter, back to snoozing in a matter of seconds. He shouldn't have stood there watching him sleep, no. He gave himself five seconds to compose himself before taking the bag Dean had abandoned in the hall and tugging it into the room alongside its twin, backing them both up against the wall.

Later, he could unpack and do as he wished. For now, Castiel left him to sleep in the silence of his own space, shutting the door quietly behind him. It was too early to be awake, anyway.

But sleep didn't come easily to him after the arrival, several times his permanent awareness having him rolling onto his side to stare at the clock on the table, its red light mocking him as the minutes ticked on, oblivious to his suffering. Somewhere around seven-thirty, the click of Gabriel’s loafers echoed outside his door, the front door opening and closing thereafter, distracting his mind from the sunlight beginning to dye the black sky red in the distance from his porch. He would have to get up at some point, away from the warmth of his bed and into the shower.

Dean would have to do the same too, he thought belatedly, rolling onto his back. What was he supposed to do with him when he wasn't occupied next door? Did he work another job, have hobbies? He mentioned taking online classes, but how long did that take?

What did he really _know_ about him? This was a horrible idea; he shouldn't have suggested it in the first place, but just the sight of him and his shirtless, ridiculously toned body had his blood occupying less vital areas than his brain. But maybe he could use the lack of knowledge for his benefit, get to actually _know_ Dean rather than just being a free landlord. Just as long as Gabriel didn't get his hands on him.

Dean was still in bed approaching the nine o’clock hour, long after Castiel’s morning routine and breakfast. What was his schedule today? he wondered at his desk, watching the multicolored swirls spin around in haphazard patterns on his monitor, the faint sound of the local jazz station streaming from the portable radio on the shelf to his right. He needed to decorate; all the books make the space look too academic, too stuffy for someone to sit in for hours on end.

He needed to get out of there, maybe open a few windows or screen doors, start letting the cool air in. Waking up his new housemate wasn't on his immediate list of things to do that morning, but upon the fear of him being late for whatever it was he did over there, he slid open the pocket door and found the man burrowed in the blankets, head barely visible under the lip of them. A murmured grunt was his greeting, the rumpled mess of chestnut hair emerging, the rest of his sleep-warmed torso following. “Y’gonna do that every mornin’, stand there in the doorway?” Dean mumbled through a yawn, stretching his arms high.

“I’d most certainly hope not,” Castiel said, hoping it came across as humorous. Whether it did or not, Dean smiled anyway, scratching low on his stomach. “What time were you planning…?”

“Getting up? Or working?” Castiel didn’t answer either, more occupied with watching Dean’s lithe form slip from the bed, sweatpants barely hanging to his frame. His one sock was lost in the bed somewhere. “Don’t gotta be there till twelve. Why, you got somethin’ else planned?”

“Not—really?” He was having a hard time listening to what he was saying, his words lost the closer Dean stepped, backing him up against the wall. “What are you—?”

Dean _smirked_ at him, patting his shoulder on the way to the door. “Y’look like you either wanna eat me or fuck me, probably both. So’re you gonna ask or…?”

Ask _what_? “S-Shower,” Castiel stammered, pointedly looking away. “The—uh—shower’s down the hall. I’ll make breakfast, if you want? I assume you haven’t eaten?”

“Oh.” Dean looked half a bit embarrassed, scratching the back of his head. “Sorry, sorry. I—assumed you were interested—?”

“No, _no_ , I am,” Castiel confided. “Too much, I’m afraid. But I’d like to get to know you better first, rather than… It never works out, this way.”

“What, sex first, talk later?” Dean asked, eyes to their feet. “Yeah, I’ll agree with y’there. Gotta say, I’ve never met a guy who didn’t want in my pants the first minute they saw me.” _Understatement, massive understatement._ “Kinda nice to be around someone and not expect that, I guess.”

Castiel leant back of his own will, tilting his head at an angle. “You thought you would be obligated to have sex with me if you stayed here?” Dean shrugged an affirmation; Castiel’s shoulders slumped at the sight. “You’re safe here, Dean. You don’t have to do anything you don't want to, I promise.”

A weight visibly lifted from Dean, an unforced smile finally flitting across plush lips. _Stop staring, Novak_! “Thanks, Cas. Really,” Dean breathed, and walked into the doorway. “So how ‘bout that breakfast you were talkin’ about?”

Castiel shook his head with a chuckle. “Shower first. You smell like chlorine, did you swim?”

“ _Oh_ , that.” Dean rubbed his bicep over the bruise Castiel knew would show in the right light. The makeup department would be in for a field day. “I kinda got shoved in trying to break it up. Took the guy with me, didn’t really work out for either of us.”

“Sounds exciting.” Dean shot him a curious glance. “The most I’ve done in the last month is get dragged to a strip club.”

“You don’t sound exactly thrilled about that,” Dean joshed. “So which way is—.”

“Oh, down hall to your right.” Castiel thumbed around the corner, and Dean left him wink, disappearing past the pocket door. He hadn’t taken any clothes with him – was he planning to walk around in a towel? _Naked_?

With clear reluctance, he made himself scarce at the thought.

-+-+-+-+-+-

They settled into a suitable living arrangement over the following month, majority of Castiel’s time being spent in his office or on the phone with his editor, or in the off chance, shoving Gabriel out when he threatened to commandeer his computer when he had his own in the study. Dean made himself at home fairly easily and, while there more often than not, took up to doing schoolwork either in the upstairs study or poolside, always concentrating, never talking more than necessary during those moments.

It was nice, Castiel considered, having someone around that didn't live to torment him daily. Well, not _intentionally_ , anyway. Dean accomplished that all on his own purely with his existence, wandering around the estate with a textbook in hand, sometimes fully dressed and other times oblivious to the fact he wasn't wearing _pants_. He shouldn't have paid that much attention, he knew – Dean was only twenty-three, his body betraying his age; he had two inches on Castiel, easily, with a physique that left him waking up from dreams he refused to dwell on during the daylight hours. This wasn't _healthy_ , by any standards. Watching him strut around – probably unintentionally – for days on end, knowing full and well what his profession was and the obvious attraction between both of them. And he _knew_ Dean shared the sentiment, and their conversation last week – _Cas, I’m not allowed to come for a week, and every time I look at you I wanna throw you down and ride you so hard_ – did nothing to abate the fire hidden behind subtle touches and too-long stares.

That, and the fact the boy had taken to sunbathing in the _nude_ on occasion, claiming tan lines weren’t exactly the prettiest thing on camera. Dean had had reservations at first, not entirely sure if it would be approved, but Castiel more-than-enthusiastically told him to do as he wished, inwardly lying to himself that he didn't _just_ want to see Dean naked outside of the bedroom.

It wasn't that he wasn't handsome, no – he was the type of attractive that could get him arrested in half the states of the nation, California probably included. Dean was lounging in one of the patio chairs that morning, laid flat with a pair of blacked-out Ray Bans over his eyes, hands pillowing his head, completely unmindful of Castiel watching him from the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest. The unrelenting southwestern sun tanned his skin enough to almost obscure the freckles that painted his shoulders and face, a faint sheen of sweat drenching every delicious inch of skin available, right down to his thick cock, nicely hung between his legs and too tempting to be legal. If only he could have sunk down to his knees between those toned thighs—.

“You’re staring again, aren’t you?” Dean spoke, the shock of his words nearly having him scurrying back into the house, red faced and shamed. The man tilted his head back and moved his sunglasses aside just enough to watch him upside down, a smirk playing over his lips. “Like what y’see?”

This boy would _kill_ him before his newly overactive libido did. “I thought we made that clear,” Castiel retorted. He joined Dean in the chair next to his, leaning into the upright back; he really needed to invest in more comfortable pool equipment.

Dean made a pleased noise, wiggling his hips a bit, the sway of his cock sending a flush up his neck. What was the point of _not_ staring anymore, if Dean was willing to flaunt himself? The thought that he could be doing it on purpose crossed his mind, tempting him with his body more than with words. Dean wasn't much of a talker, didn't exactly communicate his feelings in the most suitable manner, always relying on the other participant to pick up on just what he meant. And Castiel could read him perfectly, down to the soft intent his fingers held when they brushed his skin in the most innocent of passes.

They wanted each other – carnally, biblically, in every way and form possible. What in the world was holding him back?

“Used to think the starin’ thing was creepy,” Dean mused. “’S kinda growin’ on me, though.”

“You do your fair share, as well.” Dean lifted an eyebrow, obviously trying to hide his smile. “You’re not very subtle.”

“Neither are you! I saw you the first time you looked at me out here, all wide-eyed and twitchy.” He sat up, one arm behind his back, the other sliding his sunglasses off and placing them on the glass table between them. “You want me, and I know that _I_ want you, so what’s stopping us?”

 _That_ was the question. And what was stopping Dean, as well? Was he waiting for some sort of cue? “I don’t know,” Castiel sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I don't—I don't want _us_ to be just about sex, Dean.”

Dean hummed in thought, absently stroking a hand down his front, dangerously close to where Castiel so longed to touch, to _taste_. “’Re you sayin’ you wanna ask me out?”

 _I’m asking you to put some clothes on so I can tear them off you_. “I’m saying I would like to get to know _you_ , not this façade you’ve built.” Dean’s brow pinched. “You’ve lived here for a month, and you’ve yet to tell me why you’re in California, or anything beyond the present.”

Dean watched him, his sigh deflating. “Fine, but you gotta spill too. I wanna know why you’re not jumpin’ my bones right now, ‘n I wanna hear about what happened in New York. ‘Cause if it’s anything like what you’ve written—.”

“You’ll find out in time.” It was a compromise he could deal with. Dean shared his smile, his showing teeth; such a single thing shouldn't have warmed him as much as it did.

-+-+-+-+-+-

Out of all the restaurants Dean could have chosen – Castiel offered him first say, since neither of them were willing to shell out any cash for two-hour meals at whatever expensive place Los Angeles had to sell –he hadn’t exactly planned on spending game night in the Shakeys Pizza on San Fernando. At least they were a ways away from local fathers with their sons of brothers in the main room, shouting at whomever was playing on the big screens mounted from the ceiling. What sport, he didn't know, nor really cared.

The only thing he could remotely concentrate on was the toe of Dean’s sneaker rubbing up and down the length of Castiel’s calf, the seats of their booth pushed too close together in the back of the restaurant. And he just as eagerly returned the gesture, each touch sending a new flare of red across Dean’s cheeks. Even on the few dates Castiel had been on in his life, none had involved that much proximity, feet tangled under the table unbeknownst to the rest of the world.

“’M from Kansas, first off,” Dean said, finishing up his first slice of their shared pizza. “Worked odd jobs through high school, graduated by the skin of my teeth. My brother pushed me, didn’t want me flunking out.”

“You have a brother?” He didn't know why he assumed Dean was an only child.

Dean nodded. “He’s up at Stanford, got a full ride when he graduated. Sammy’s smart as _fuck_ , you shoulda seen him when he got the acceptance letter. I didn’t think he’d ever stop smiling. Mom was thrilled, but ‘course dad wasn’t happy, but we haven’t put much stock into him after the divorce.” Castiel didn't bother to push for more on that topic, the wince on Dean’s face being enough of an answer for him.

“So why are you in LA, if he’s there?”

“I actually stayed with him for a while,” Dean told him. “For about half a year. I actually worked in a café on campus, closest I’ve physically been to an actual university. So one night, I met this guy in a bar, took me back to his apartment, y’know, normal stuff.” He stopped to breathe, sounding oddly excited. “So he says to me the next morning that he’s got a job down in the Hills he’d like me to consider.”

Castiel snorted. “He offered to make you a star after a one-night-stand?”

“Hey, for the record, I’m _great_ in bed.” His shoe brushed his ankle, hooking their feet together. “But yeah, I told Sammy I was going to SoCal for the weekend, and I went back long enough to quit and get packed.”

“Did you tell him what you were doing?”

“…Not really? I said I was applying for internships at some film studios, and I’ve never told him different.” He pointed again, continuing, “and don’t tell him if he calls the house phone, either. I… don’t really know how he’ll take it.”

Castiel linked their pointer fingers together, drawing Dean’s hand back to the table and covering it with his own. “I won’t. But don’t you think you should at least let him know? If he’s as smart as you say, I’m sure he’ll understand.”

“He probably would,” Dean shrugged. “I just… It’s been two years, and I can barely admit it to myself, y’know? I’m not ashamed of it, but… It’s kinda hard to think about what your life’s become, right?”

Castiel nodded, looking down at their half eaten pizza. A raucous uproar sounded from the other room, several men jumping up from their seats. “I worked the red light, for a year. In New York.” Dean nearly choked on his third slice, beating his chest to clear the obstruction. Castiel kept his eyes down, his free hand in his lap, the other, Dean twining their fingers together and squeezing hard. “I couldn't stand living with my family in Chicago, and I caught the first train I could, I didn't care where. Incidentally, I couldn't afford to live on my own, so I spent majority of nights in the homes and in hotels with strange men for money, until Gabriel found me again.”

Dean listened, eyes wide in something between terror and awe. “Your character, Hardy—.”

“Hardy was the most autobiographical of my characters, yes,” Castiel admitted. “That was well over twelve years ago, though. It’s not my crowning achievement in life, but I’ve grown from it.”

Dean sat back, his lips forming a ‘wow’ as he blinked. They weren’t exactly in the same boat, but they understood each other. Doing what they had to, one forced, one by choice. Castiel had already achieved his dream off the streets – Dean was still waiting, striving for the day he could leave. Where he would go after he graduated in the coming years, neither knew nor bothered to ask. “Well, look at us. Couple’a ex-pats sittin’ in a pizza joint talking about how fucked up our lives are.” Another roar from the other room. “You’re a lot different than I thought you’d be, Cas.”

Castiel clutched his hand tighter. “How so?”

“I thought you were gonna be like… a total dick or something. Most celebrities are, and you’re always in the news when you put something new out, you’re practically famous. And now I’m here with you—.”

“I’ve never really liked the public eye,” Castiel replied, solemn. “My manager forced me into doing morning shows for a while, I didn't like the limelight. Too many expectations and judgmental eyes. They were always trying to dig more out of me each time, trying to figure out C.J. Novak’s ‘mysterious past.’”

“So _that's_ why you always looked like you had a stick up your ass.” Dean’s laugh had him attempting to hide his smile, ending up unsuccessful.

“Wouldn't you? It became a running joke, asking me what brought me to New York. I’m sure once _Ascent of Man_ is published, I’ll have to start the same routine again.”

“You should tell ‘em to fuck off,” Dean said in all sincerity. “I mean, if they’re not gonna respect your privacy, why put up with their shit?”

“Because they’re _reporters_ , Dean. They’ll eat me alive.”

“So what’ll happen if they find I’m living with you?”

Castiel crossed his arms, leaning back in the booth. “What’s going on in my life is none of their business, and neither is whether we’re dating or not, nor your profession.”

Dean was silent for a long moment, the sound of the television across the restaurant and the idle chatter amongst patrons acting as their ambiance. Dean looked half ready to bolt from the room, hand faintly jittering in his. “I don’t think this was such a good idea, after all,” he added, voice barely audible. “You’re gonna publish, and they’re gonna find me—.”

“—Dean—.”

“It’s gonna ruin my rep if they find out, Cas.” Dean slipped his hand free and made his way to stand, tugging his over shirt back onto his frame, hanging off to one side in his haste. “I already changed my name, but now this—.”

“Dean, sit, _please_.” Castiel could see the abject fear in his eyes, the need to flee the situation and go anywhere but there. He wondered if he had done it before, if that was the reason he left home, to escape the past he couldn't stand to remember. And now he was about to do it again, leave the past month in the dust and who knew what else. “Dean—.”

“I need to—I’m—.” He stopped, thought. “I don’t know. I need’ta drive.” And he left, winding through the front door and disappearing off to the right, leaving Castiel with one slice left and more confusion and longing than necessary.

And he had no way to get _home_ , especially at eight o’clock in the evening. Traffic on the side streets would be horrible. His next best option was his phone, a chipper voice ringing out on the other end. “Gabriel? I need you to pick me up.”

-+-+-+-+-+-

It rained. For the first time since his arrival and probably for a good few months before then, it _poured_ , torrents of rain washing down streets and into storm drains, scaring normally panicked drivers into a state of frenzy in mere seconds of the first signs of precipitation. Thankfully they arrived home in Gabriel’s Mercedes coupe, parking in the garage just in time for the bottom to fall out. Wherever Dean was on the dark, meandering streets, he at least hoped he was safe.

Sleep eluded him as he listened to the rain hit the boral tiles, the weather shattering the picturesque scenery he had come to know so well. The lights of the valley were still illuminating in the valley, the yellow beams of the Impala mingling somewhere in there, if he hadn’t entirely skipped town. The further up the hills, the more landslides became a risk; the roads were too treacherous to try and go out to find him, wherever he may have been.

Part of him thought Dean never to return. What he _wasn't_ expecting was to see him outside by the pool the following morning, knocked out cold beneath the rising morning sun in sopping wet clothes. Of all the things Castiel could have done, he could have _at least_ left the back door unlocked. Sliding open the glass and screen doors, he shook Dean by the shoulder, the man opening his eyes and nearly bolting off the chair in a panic. “Dean, it’s me,” he repeated twice, enough to get the message across. “You slept outside?”

“I couldn't find my garage door opener,” he mumbled, groggy, “then I locked my keys in the front seat. Guess I wasn’t thinkin’, was I?”

“I guess not.” Castiel shook his head. “Come inside, you’re soaking wet.”

“Yeah, well, whose fault is that?” Castiel stopped to stare, lifting an eyebrow. “…Alright, _both_ of ours. Who doesn’t at least leave a window open?”

“Let’s just blame the rain.”

He helped Dean inside and up the stairs, the man stripping his sodden shirt off and tossing it to the floor of his room before stepping out of his jeans, falling to a heap on the floor. The sight he was left with had his hands twitching at his sides, his resolve crumbling with every quickened breath he took. Dean was standing there, thumbs fingering the lacy black waistband of his sheer panties, the curve of him within those confines ultimately snapping his resolve.

 _Damn_ his abstinence and raging libido. Dean stopped the half-hearted removal of the rain-soaked fabric, Castiel’s hands pulling his aside, one hand holding both wrists behind his back. With his other, he rubbed over his bulge, heart racing from being able to finally _touch_ rather than watch from afar. With a soft purr, Dean bared his neck, Castiel taking advantage of the new stretch of skin by pressing a soft kiss there. “Thought you wanted to get t’know me,” Dean murmured, hips arching into the insistence of Castiel’s hand. “What happened to resisting temptation?”

“I’ve chosen to ignore my previous qualms about the matter.” With a nip to his earlobe, Castiel dipped his hand beneath the waistband of the fabric, suppressing the groan that threatened to rise with Dean’s own, loud and beautiful to his ears. What he wouldn't have given to remember that sound for the rest of his days. “Where did you go last night?”

Dean whined a bit, his hands twitching against the front of Castiel’s pants in an attempt to return the favor. He stepped forward, enough to allow Dean to touch him, tracing the hard line of his cock, straining in his sweatpants. “Drove to—the observatory. Wanted to get away, but the road was closed— _fuck, right there_ —then I thought about you, what you said—.”

Castiel huffed into his ear, biting his lip at the admission. “Do you think of me often?” he growled, breathless. “Do you think about me, when you’re with your partners?”

To his surprise, Dean nodded; his eyes locked to Dean’s adam’s apple as he swallowed, a harsh breath escaping. “Wish it was you—think about you taking me. Throwing me on my bed.”

Without haste, Castiel did just that, spinning Dean around and shoving him into the white comforter, his cock twitching obscenely from the treatment. For fear of someone – that _someone_ being his nosey pain of a _brother_ – seeing, he pulled the door shut and joined Dean on the bed, crawling over him and pinning his wrists down. “That’s not what you want, though, is it?”

Dean shook his head, his breath shaking. “I like it when… when they take their time,” he admitted, sheepish. He was beautiful when he blushed, the red tinge creeping from his cheeks to his chest, countless freckles standing out; he wanted to taste them all. “Rough is nice, that's what I’m good at, but—feels better, to be…”

“You like to be touched.” Dean nodded at the statement. To illustrate, Castiel let go of one of his hands and trailed his fingers down the exposed plane of Dean’s chest, the boy’s eyes rolling back as he fell into the touch. It was no wonder Dean had a following – his responsiveness was astounding, leaving him with the insatiable desire to have his savage way with him. He couldn't, though – he had to listen to Dean, give in to his desires. “You like to be pushed to your limit, to be taken apart, piece—,” a wet kiss to his nipple, “—by—,” to his chest, neck, “—piece.”

Dean’s resolve broke with a groan as Castiel brought him into a kiss, all teeth and tongue and the least bit of finesse possible. Dean was hard against him, writhing, the barest hint of nails digging in over the fabric of Castiel’s nightshirt, one hand lost in his hair and pulling him impossibly closer. And Castiel was just as lost, palming over Dean’s bulge and shoving the front of his panties down, releasing the hardness of his cock to his full grip. “Fuck, _fuck_ , Cas—waited for you—.”

“I know, I _know_.” He pulled away from the ripeness of his lips and started again on his neck, his other hand stripping Dean’s cock, thumbing the head on each upstroke, quick and merciless. “I’ve wanted—.”

“Want you to—fuck me, oh _fuck, fuck_ me, _Cas—_.” Dean’s thighs tensed around him, knees pressed to his sides with every stroke, every kiss to his neck, lips, that spot below his ear. “ _Fuck_ , gonna make me _come_ —.”

A firm set of knocks of the door had Castiel clamping his free hand over Dean’s lips, the pair looking towards the entryway, bewildered, fully expecting it to swing open. Instead, Gabriel chimed in, “Cassie, I’m gonna need you to stop doing… _whatever_ you’re doing in there, I don't care who it’s with, by the way! Your editor’s on the phone!”

Castiel cursed to himself – how had he _forgotten_ about his meeting? On the bed, Dean whined, stomach still twitching from the loss of sensation, cock twitching from neglect. “I need to take that call,” he groused, pulling away with all reluctance and removing his hand from Dean’s mouth. “Don’t move.”

“I have a shoot,” Dean complained, eyes closed tight, obviously fighting the urge to finish himself off. “In a—an hour—can’t come—.”

Castiel shushed him with a kiss, refusing to touch him more than he had to. “You’re sure?”

Dean nodded, covering his eyes. “’M at the pool today. Y’could watch? You won’t get in the shot, promise.”

He didn't want to – that was an invasion of privacy he didn't want to subject himself to, no matter how many of Dean’s videos he didn't want to admit to having watched. Gabriel never _did_ log out that day. But in his lust-clouded state he agreed, smothering Dean with another kiss before he extracted himself from the bed, hoping in all contexts that his brother didn’t look _down_ when he left the room.

Door shut behind him, Gabriel slapped his shoulder while sporting the biggest grin his face could fit. “You _dog_.”

Castiel ignored him, and promptly shut himself in his office.

-+-+-+-+-+-

“So, your boy toy’s getting his ass fondled in public,” Gabriel told him, one hand on the top of his desk, the other on his hip. “And you’re not out there _why_?”

Castiel blew a hot breath from his nose, concentrating on his keyboard and _not_ where his mind desperately wanted to drift. “Be _cause_ , Gabriel,” he started, as stern as he could muster, “I’m respecting his privacy. I have no intentions of watching what I can’t do myself, even at a distance.”

“But you _want_ to,” his brother sneered. “Dude, I _heard_ you two! I was halfway out the door when he started _begging_ , and you don't think he wants you to watch?”

“I’m not a _voyeur_. And shouldn't you be at work?”

“You’re a voyeur enough to watch him _play_ with himself. C’mon, Cassie, admit it. They only reason you’re not out there’s because your _morals_ are clouding whatever else you got in your head!” Castiel rolled his eyes. “He wants you, you want him, so I’ll tell you what. I’ll get out of your hair for the night _if_ you go watch for _five_ minutes. It’s hot stuff.”

He ignored his brother’s wink, pointedly keeping his eyes on the monitor screen. “If I do, will you actually go to _work_ for once? I’m sure you’re missing out on the young adult idol drama I _know_ you love so dearly.”

“Pushy, pushy, Cassie. Wanna get rid of me that bad?”

“ _Gabriel_ —.”

“I’m going, I’m going.” He thumbed to the floor above them, clearly chipper. “You don’t wanna miss what’s going down, though.”

-+-+-+-+-+-

Castiel gave Dean an hour to get home before he ran next door and dragged him into bed _himself_ , no matter the proximity. After _that_ display, watching him get face fucked by some guy almost twice his size while he fingered himself open, he didn't know how he kept himself from coming in his pants. Dropping the binoculars on his lap helped significantly. At least Dean’s instructions had been accurate – given the location of the studio’s pool to the height of his house, there was no possible way any of the cameras could have seen their home at all. And even if so, there were too many palms in the direction of his upstairs patio.

Dean planned the entire scenario down to the letter – and he _still_ felt like a stalker because of it. But both parties consented, Dean even _asked_ him to, granted it was in a haze. But he never told him to _stop_ , either, even offering him the binoculars in the first place, apparently from when he used to sneak onto the roof of his motel and stargaze. They worked well enough, giving him a full frontal view to Dean sucking cock like his very life depended on it. Whether either of them came, he didn't know; he had been too busy rushing back indoors and taking the coldest possible shower every conceived, just to keep himself from bursting into flame at the memory.

Thankfully Gabriel had stuck by his promise and vacated the premises for the day, leaving him to pace an anxious line around the main room, waiting for the inevitable rush of someone – _anyone_ – through the front door. He couldn't think, could barely _breathe_ from anticipation, the unadulterated _need_ burning through his blood like he had never before felt. And he was sure the process of waiting would kill him before anything else did.

But if Dean was anything, it was unexpected. Nothing could have prepared him for the wild-eyed man that threw the front door open, pants slung low enough to expose the crack of his ass and his over shirt half hanging off his torso, growling loud enough to be heard from across the room. He barely got the door closed before he was in his personal space, dragging Castiel into a kiss that nearly knocked the wind out of him.

“I came so hard thinkin’ about you,” Dean growled against his neck, working with shaking hands to tear his arms out of his sleeves. Castiel definitely didn't aid the process, too busy digging his fingers into whatever bare skin he could reach, namely the fleshy globes of his ass beneath well-worn denim. “Almost said your name—.”

“Shut up,” Castiel growled. He was the first to break contact, shoving Dean back a foot, enough to admire the disheveled man there, chest heaving with labored breathing, hands itching to seek contact again. Castiel probably didn't look much better, hair still wet and askew from his shower, pants barely pulled up past his waist. “If you don't get upstairs in the next five seconds, I’m dragging you myself.” He rushed to the stairs, skidding to a stop before turning, adding, “bring the blue one.”

Dawning crossed Dean’s face and he all but ran to catch up, Castiel slinging the door open to his bedroom while Dean disappeared behind his own. His screen door was still open from the hour before, binoculars still on the dresser, sheets meticulously tucked at the edges. Behind him, Dean was standing in the doorway, trailing his fingers down his bare chest and giving himself a stroke over satin panties – pink this time, leaving absolutely _nothing_ to the imagination – his other hand holding a navy-blue s-shaped vibrator.

“I take it you’ve been watching my solos,” Dean mused, padding across the carpeted floor. He placed the head square in the middle of Castiel’s chest, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “So, now that you have me, what’re you gonna do to me?”

“I have plans.” His fingers skimmed Dean’s as he took the vibrator from him, placing the main head against the plushness of the boy’s lower lip, shuddering at the sight of his tongue darting out to lick. “You could kill a man, you know that?”

Only by the grace of God was he able to restrain himself at the sight of Dean taking the head of the toy into his mouth, one hand caressing the skin of Castiel’s arm, thumb teasing along the pale skin of his wrist. “Wouldn't want that to happen now, would we, Cas?” he cooed. “C’mon, we’ve lived together for a month, ‘n I still haven’t seen you naked.”

He could give in to that. Resuming the morning’s tryst, he pushed Dean back towards his bed and shoved him down along with the toy, moving to pull his shirt off over his shoulders. Dean joined, shifting up to his knees and pushing the fabric up by the hem and tugging it over his head with ease. The reverent look on Dean’s face had him swallowing under the scrutiny, the boy’s tongue tracing over his lips. “You look like you’re thinking of something,” Castiel spoke, tracing Dean’s lip with his thumb.

“Never pegged you for guy with piercings, I guess.” Dean gestured to the studded barbell through his nipple, wasting no time in getting his mouth on it, rolling it with his tongue while pulling his hips closer, denim pressed flush to bare skin. “Want you in my mouth.”

“We can arrange that.” With those words, Dean pulled away and sat in the middle of the bed, giving Castiel his undivided attention. He gave no pretense of a show, untying the drawstring of his pants and shoving them and his boxers down together. Audibly he heard Dean’s breath hitch; out of all the faked faces he had seem from stars in the past, his intimidation wasn't. “You still sure?”

Dean nodded, swallowing, barely able to restrain the pure want in his eyes. With a sort of single-mindedness he hadn’t felt in years, he brought his hand over the too-obvious bulge in Dean’s panties, teasing a finger over the wet spot there, hips arching into his touch. “ _C’mon_ , Cas, you gonna keep me waitin’ forever?”

“I’ll make you wait as long as I wish.” He brought Dean into a heated kiss, barely giving the boy a chance to come up for air before palming the front of his underwear, rough, swallowing the distraught whine he gave. Dean _shuddered_ , pulling Castiel closer by his hair, his other hand stroking the long curve of his cock, Castiel’s hips rocking into the sharp flicks of his wrist. “ _Dean_ —.”

“Gonna get you back for this morning—.” Castiel cut him off by returning the gesture, shoving the lacy fabric down to around Dean’s thighs, teasing two fingers behind his sac and pressing against his perineum hard enough to bring the boy to whimpering pleas. “ _Fu—ck—_ Cas, stop, _stop_.” Castiel did, drawing back enough to give Dean room to breathe; Dean only pulled him closer, nipping at the lobe of his ear. “Put it in me, Cas. Want you to fuck my mouth.”

Castiel kissed him again and reached over to the bedside drawer, pulling out the bottle of lube that had seen more use in the last month than it had in the past _year_. “How’s your throat, though?”

As beautiful as Dean was bare, he wanted to see his cock strain in that precum-soaked fabric for as long as he could, a sharp contrast to arousal-flushed skin. He was all too tempted to sink between his legs and lap at the length of him over the lace, fingers fucking inside him until Dean begged him to stop with his hands in his hair, body writhing with the need to come. That was for another day though, when they had more time. For now, he wanted Dean to lose himself while being used from both ends. “S’fine,” Castiel heard Dean mutter as he pulled the panties back up around his hips, playfully letting the waistband snap. Dean gasped, going on, “Just don’t go all out, okay? I’ll make it good for you.”

Castiel prided himself on his patience with his partners, always making sure they were comfortable in whatever position they were in, always keeping contact in one way or another, either by presses of lips or gentle touches of hands. On their sides, he drew Dean into kiss after kiss, always tender, always a counterpoint to the insistent press of his lube-slicked finger to his hole, slipping inside beneath his panties with ease. “You’re still wet,” Castiel mentioned, pushing a second in with no resistance; Dean groaned into his mouth at the mention of a third. “You were waiting for me.”

“Your voice should be _illegal_ , man,” Dean stammered. “Y’gonna finger me all day or you gonna get to work?”

“I’m perfectly content right here,” he lied with a grin. He had Dean whining into the sheets with the crook of his fingers, rubbing his prostate with no mercy, cock twitching hard in his underwear with every pass. “If you want it, you’ll have to ask.”

“ _Fuck_ , Cas.” Dean gripped his bicep tight, body straining _, writhing_ with his need for release. “Y’know you want—you wanna—. _Fuck_ , I cant—.”

“You can,” Castiel said, biting his clavicle, “and you will. Use that mouth, Dean.”

“ _Cas_ —want you to fuck—fuck me, use me, please—,” he panted. “Wanted you since I saw you. Every time someone touched me—wanted it to be you.” Castiel watched him through his admissions, his eyes pinched tight in his arousal, lips begging to be touched. “Wanna—want this, want _you_ , always, wanna _come_ — _please_ —.”

“All those men, those cameras, they don’t get to see you like this, do they?” Regretting his next move, he pulled the panties down and off, tossing them to the side as he pushed Dean onto his back, legs splayed wide. Before him, Dean chewed his lip and wiggled his hips, looking all the bit the image of sin. He nearly came at the sight. “Wanted you for too long, Dean. Wanted all of you.”

“Then do somethin’ about it, would ya?” Dean laughed, giving himself a loose stroke. “You talk a big game, but can you give it?”

Castiel chose not to respond to that, instead answering by slapping Dean’s inner thigh. “You’re mouthy when you don't get your way.”

“’M startin’ to think you just wanna torture me all day.” Another wiggle, coupled with a short hum. “So’re you gonna do it or not? Make me come, _Castiel_.”

He would. Lubing one end of the toy, he helped to lift Dean’s hips a bit and pressed the fatter head to his hole, marveling at how well he took it in, the boy gasping until the other end was pressed firm against his perineum, and he achingly wished it was _him_ inside that tight heat, not some expensive silicone. “I thought you were beautiful when you used this,” Castiel admitted, mouthing at Dean’s freckled shoulders and sucking a mark to the surface. “You didn’t want it to end, did you? You sounded so desperate, so wanton for any form of touch, anyone to bring you the pleasure you desired so.

“You can’t come until I’m inside you. Do you understand?” Dean nodded, settling back into the sheets. “Good, Dean. So _good_.”

Dean’s overly-smug persona died the second he fingered the switch on the vibrator, his back bowing in a beautiful arc, fingers grasping for purchase at whatever he could reach; the metal of the headboard, the sheets, even Castiel’s thighs as he came up to straddle his shoulders, pressing his thick cock to his lips and pushing inside. Dean took him to the root with practiced ease, barely giving him a second before he pulled back enough to suckle at the head, laving his tongue along the vein underneath on the down stroke.

And he was _gorgeous_ doing it. Castiel gripped the headboard with one hand and Dean’s hair with the other, steadily rocking his hips into the heat of his mouth, struggling with his entire being not to hold him down and come down his throat. That wasn't him – that was the lust that compelled him, wanting nothing more than to take and leave him begging for more. “You’re amazing,” Castiel breathed, shivering at a particularly vicious lick to his slit, the boy swallowing him down again, this time until his nose was buried in the short curls at the base.

Dean was absolutely relentless, treating him like he was the only thing in existence, somehow able to bypass the vibrator threatening to tear his senses to shreds and give his entire focus to the cock in his mouth. He wished he could have seen him at a different angle, hips probably twitching from stimulation, dribbling precum all over his tight stomach, dripping down his flanks and making a mess of everything it touched. The sight of Dean’s lips around him, hooded eyes watching, unfocused, had him hurtling him to the edge in no time flat. That wouldn't do. Thankfully, the tremble in Dean’s fingertips on his hips told him all he needed to know. “Are you close, Dean?” Castiel mused, pulling at his hair. “Tell me.”

With reluctance Dean pulled back, placing intermittent kisses at the head, all laced with heat and desperation. “Turn it off, turn it _off_ —gonna—!”

Dean positively shouted when Castiel shut the device off, moving with shivering legs away from his former position and scooting down to part Dean’s bowed knees. “You’re _filthy_ , Dean, look,” he murmured. Dean threw his head back when Castiel smeared his hand up and through the mess of precum on his stomach, still dripping from his oversensitive cock, begging for _any_ sort of attention.

“ _Fuck_ , you don't know what you’re doin’ to me.” Dean allowed himself to be rolled onto his stomach, a sigh deflating him as Castiel pulled the massager from him and sat it on the nightstand.

“I thought I was fucking you,” Castiel jeered. Dean slapped his thigh as he reached over into the drawer to retrieve a condom, clearly happy about something. “Unless you want me to tie you to the bed and leave you.”

“I swear to _whoever_ if you don’t get in me yesterday, I’m gonna—I’ll do _something_ —.” Castiel shut him up with a kiss to his nape and hands to his ass, spreading him wide to expose his puffy hole. “ _Cas_ , stop _teasing_!”

“You waited a month, I think you can wait a few more seconds.” Dean cursed at the idea, earning a smack to his ass. For all Castiel’s saintly patience, he could barely resist temptation for much longer, barely getting the condom on and secure before sheathing himself inside Dean without so much as a warning. Not that the boy minded, choosing to lower himself onto his chest, ass in the air and hands gripping the bars of the headboard for dear life.

He had meant to go slow, to give himself over to Dean’s original wishes and make him feel _wanted_ – that flew out the window after the first thrust, both too eager and deprived to hold out for much longer. Dean was shouting out curses with each slam of their hips, his knees threatening to give out the longer they progressed, cock hanging heavy, neglected between his legs. The noises he made only spurred Castiel on, gripping his hips hard enough to leave telltale bruises the next morning. It only made him _louder_ , and Castiel joined in the reverie in his own way, grunting at the sound of skin hitting skin, matching Dean’s echoes of ‘ _fuck, shit, fu—ck_ ,’ throwing his name in for good measure.

He made a mental note to never get either of them that worked up again; he wanted to last longer, wanted _both_ of them to, not having to succumb to animalistic desires that were bordering on _claiming_ one another. Dean was whining something that sounded close to ‘coming,’ Castiel replying with, “Come for me, _now_ , Dean,” feeling Dean clench around him, untouched, viselike. Unlike his display on camera, Dean was silent as he came, body lost in the throes of his orgasm for seconds before his cock striped the blankets white in thick globs. After that, Castiel threw himself wholeheartedly into his pleasure and came shortly after, hips flexing in time with his release, aching to get deeper, bury himself fully into the man beneath him.

At some point they had collapsed, Dean in the wet spot and Castiel on top of him, still inside and unwilling to move any time soon. Not that Dean was complaining, much more content to feel Castiel’s arms around him and the occasional shift of limbs. “Dude, as much as I like this, you’re _kinda_ crushin’ my lungs,” Dean heaved, reaching back to pat Castiel’s back.

“My apologies.” Despite the bone-deep exhaustion that threatened to consume him, Castiel pulled out and removed the condom, throwing the tied-off article towards the trash can in the corner before flopping onto his back next to him, a small smile on both their faces. He took a second to catch his breath before he started, muttering, “so, was that…?”

“That right there?” Dean laughed. He motioned for Castiel to move onto his side, throwing an arm around his waist and pulling him close. “Best lay I’ve had in… a _long_ time, I think.”

Castiel kissed him then, tangling their limbs despite the obviously desperate need for a shower. Another time; for now, he was happy to feel Dean next to him, swapping lazy kisses in the mid-afternoon light. “Thank you, Dean.”

Dean snorted, kissing his nose. “For what?”

“For coming back. For… giving this a chance.”

The softness in Dean’s eyes had his heart fluttering in excitement. “And you, thanks for… everything. _Really_.” Dean nuzzled closer, sighing against his neck. “But if I catch a cold, you’ll never hear the end of it.”

Castiel nodded. “I look forward to it.”

-+-+-+-+-+-

Gabriel returned to the estate around two the following morning, wandering in slightly inebriated with the car keys in hand. Flipping on the living room light, he found both Castiel and Dean on the couch, the latter in the former’s lap being spoon-fed ice cream from the carton. _Totally_ naked, complete with deer-in-the-headlight stares. “…So I take it you two worked out your little issue?” he asked with a hand on his hip and the grin to end all.

Dean smirked and raised a finger in his direction before turning and capturing Castiel’s lips in a chocolate-laced kiss. “And if you don’t leave in the next five minutes, you’re gonna witness round _four_.”

He didn't stay for much longer, after that.

**Author's Note:**

> One week later and too much time on google maps, I finished~. This is kinda my ode to Burbank, given that I used to live on the edge of Sun Valley for a while and there were a _shitload_ of mansions up the hill that could have been used for ulterior purposes. (That, and my dad's old work friend knew of a few gay studios up the hill from where he lived. That's fun.) I also did live in an extended stay motel for a month before we moved into our house, and that place got crazy at night. Would not recommend unless completely necessary. 
> 
> Also, the vibrator Dean uses is [this one](https://us.funfactory.com/en/men-toys/duke/), which looks super interesting. 
> 
> Title is from the Sade song.
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://tragidean.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://twitter.com/loversantiquity).


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